


how to make an old fashioned

by orphan_account



Category: SEVENTEEN (Band)
Genre: M/M, Magical Realism, Multimedia, Non-Linear Narrative, side 2seung
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-01-04
Updated: 2017-01-04
Packaged: 2018-09-09 03:55:46
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 8,658
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8874760
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/orphan_account/pseuds/orphan_account
Summary: Wonwoo can’t keep running away from his hurts, but he likes to think he’s only been brisk-walking so far.(In which Wonwoo invites bad luck everywhere he goes.)





	

**Author's Note:**

> the fic is set in Seoul, but I've taken a lot of liberties because I'm just basing them from memory from the last time I was there. nonetheless, I tried to keep accurate whatever was within my capabilities. there were also some things I had difficulty addressing w.r.t. Korean honourifics, how they address people, etc., so I turned them into English equivalents that made sense to me and hopefully they don't detract from the story.
> 
> PUBLISHED AT THE LAST MINUTE HAPPY SOONWOO DAY MOTHERFUCKERS
> 
> thank you to Sandra (AO3 user aishiteita), who was my incredible artist for this ficfest, and I'm so happy I got to work with her because her art really is so lovely and fit so well with the fic. she also beta'd and kept me in check emotionally. truly an MVP, she is. I probably would not have posted this fic without her and I'm so grateful for her love and support. SIS YOUR DRAWINGS ARE FUCKING AMAZING I LOVE YOU CHECK THEM OUT IN HD GLORY AT https://htmaof.tumblr.com/ ♡
> 
> lastly, to my big sis Cat (AO3 user allthatconfetti), you made all this happen and thank you so much for the watering, the love, the support. you're the best. ♡
> 
> hope you guys enjoy! this one was a wild ride for me, writing-wise~ (pics of the Iron Buddha + the beach are mine!!! and were also finally put to good use hahaha)

The pain is searing when Wonwoo moves, throbbing when he’s still. His mother hovers over him, hand firmly placed on his shoulder to keep him seated on the pink plastic chair, the low kind made for children much shorter than he is; his knees feel like they’ll burst, kneecaps springing out of place. Wonwoo thinks the bone inside his arm has become gnarled like the roots of the tree that is staring back at him, so he keeps his moving fingers tucked away by his side and wriggles into the plastic.

“Honey,” his mom says as she kneels in front of him, stockings grazing the grass, “does it hurt?” She thumbs away the tears welling up and landing on Wonwoo’s cheeks, trickling down his chin. “It must hurt a lot, right?”

Wonwoo doesn’t even realise he’s crying until he raises a clenched fist to wipe his tears and the pain shooting up his arm makes him sob again. The tears come out freely in big, fat drops that could stain his cheeks blue. His mom’s eyes widen, and she rushes to hold him in her arms.

Her cardigan is soft, and he wishes he can bunch more of the fabric in more of his fingers. She smells of a powdery perfume, and it’s heady in the way its cleanliness overwhelms and makes him feel absolutely filthy in his scuffed shirt, scuffed jeans, scuffed sneakers, all covered in a thin layer of dirt and grass. He sobs against her shoulder, making her shush him.

“You’ll be okay, my darling,” she coos at him with a pat of his hair. “Daddy’s coming.”

His father catches them a little while after, when Wonwoo’s fingers are curled around a cone of ice cream his mother buys for him. Ice cream dots the tip of Wonwoo’s nose, and they go to the hospital, where the stench of sterility stings Wonwoo’s nose and makes him rub at it, smearing ice cream into the back of his hand.

 

 

Jihoon comes to visit the next day and he spends a good portion of it poking at Wonwoo’s cast, a slight glee whenever Wonwoo would withdraw.

“Stop it, Hoon-ah,” Wonwoo grumbles. Jihoon falls back into the couch, laughing.

The game in the console is set for single play instead of multiplayer, and Wonwoo has to settle for telling Jihoon when to dodge, when to reload. At least Jihoon listens, and together, they beat Jihoon’s personal best by a wide margin.

“So,” Jihoon says with the cheese of the pizza they ordered stretching all the way to his extended paper plate, “they closed the park.”

“What?”

“Yeah, they’re turning it into a building. Right, Auntie?”

Wonwoo’s mom comes in with drinks, placing them on the coffee table. “Yes, they are. They’re cutting down all the trees to make a residential complex,” she tells Wonwoo, her gaze shifting from Jihoon to Wonwoo’s arm.

 

***

 

Joohyun is stunning in her pleated skirt, but that’s just Wonwoo, and Wonwoo is in love with the way her hair curls down her back. She orders an iced green tea latte and tightens the way her cardigan hugs her body, sleeves hanging past her knuckles.

Wonwoo positions them by the window because it’s bright and airy there and he runs his fork through the croquette with an urge to hum. “This is nice,” he says, smile too wide. It speaks for his nervousness in droves. How Joohyun seems to catch on and gives him a gentle smile in return.

“It is.”

“So I…” _I’m in love with your smile_. “I, uh”—he lets out a nervous laugh—“I like you. A lot.” He doesn’t get into particulars because the particulars are stuck in his throat. His fingers are numb and cold; he barely even feels when she takes his hand in hers. “Remember when we went to that art gallery together?” he asks.

“Ah, the one Jihoonie said we should go to because his friend is exhibiting,” Joohyun remembers. “Right. Yeah.”

“I… In the dark room—Remember that? With the moving painting? I just—”

“It’s okay, Wonwoo, you can say it.”

“I wanted to… Kiss you.”

She only nods, barely meeting his eyes. Her eyebrows knit together, making Wonwoo feel like a fuck-up. “You could’ve…” she says slowly. “But I’m sorry.” He wished she could’ve said that slowly as well. How she doesn’t leave, how it feels like she’d always be welcome. She finishes her green tea in silence then draws herself together to leave, giving Wonwoo a slight bow on the way out.

There isn’t any sound of glass shattering—it’s the tinkling of the bell when Joohyun leaves. It’s also Wonwoo’s heart developing hairline cracks.

After finishing his croquette, he leaves, slinging his messenger bag across his body. Next day, he comes back, wanting to buy a sandwich before heading to school but finds the windows all plastered instead, no morning sun filtering into the closed bakery.

 

 

***

 

“Why are these your only things?” Jihoon demands when he takes note of how Wonwoo only has four boxes of things that he brings down from his and Jeonghan’s shared apartment. Wonwoo stares forlornly at one of the boxes, with the sweater that Jeonghan liked seeing on him so much because it’s big and yellow and reminded Jeonghan of sunshine days. Jihoon’s voice calls him back: “Wonwoo.”

“The rest we bought together,” Wonwoo explains. Mostly furniture, some knick knacks. There’s a beautiful bottle opener that Jeonghan bought on a whim, and it’s currently sitting pretty, nestled on top of some Murakami books.

“I got a cab for you.” Jihoon sits down on the sidewalk. Wonwoo follows suit and rests his head on Jihoon’s shoulder. “I’m sorry,” Jihoon then quietly offers.

“It’s okay,” Wonwoo says just as quietly. With no cars passing by, nothing gets drowned out. In other words, everything suffices.

“It’s really not,” Jihoon insists. “I thought he’d be good for you.”

“I thought that, too,” Wonwoo muses aloud. He feels Jihoon wrap an arm around him and burrows deeper into his touch. A little bit after, the cab comes, and they ride in silence to another part of Seoul, the only sound made being Jihoon requesting the cab driver to switch radio stations.

 

 

The new place is bare (as expected) and surrounded by noise (just as expected; it was a rush to get it, as Wonwoo asked the broker for quite literally anything available). Jihoon stacks up a box on top of the other and lifts it with ease. Wonwoo has a little trouble doing the same, but he gets up the stairs just fine, if a little slowly, if with a little pause.

“Will you be okay?” Jihoon asks once settled in. He’s stretching his legs out on the floor of the main belly of the apartment, toes curling in their socks.

Wonwoo tosses him a bottle of water as thanks. “Yeah. I can manage,” he replies. He’s in a much busier part of town, and he’s placed faith in their distractions.

 

***

 

“Let me tell you about the time that stupid son of a bitch Park Jonghyun tried to embezzle money out of the corporation,” a man says in a slur, voice gruff from years of shouting into phones, maybe. “As if he could fool me. A charity? Ha!”

“You’ve told me before,” the bartender reminds him. “That was a funny story.” His voice is light and soft. _Tell me again about your triumphs._ They drink to that with a toast—the gruff man, his whiskey, and the bartender, a shot. He zooms in on Wonwoo just as Wonwoo sits himself on the other end of the long counter. “Hi.”

Wonwoo just looks at him, perturbed by how he must have walked into a high-class bar without having realised, and sits a little straighter. “Hi,” he says eventually.

“I'm Soonyoung,” the bartender introduces himself. “So what will it be?”

“What do you recommend?” Wonwoo asks instead of _what is your cheapest beer_? Soonyoung doesn't even look like the type to enjoy a nice, cold beer with some greasy chicken—there is sophistication in his folded cuffs and the juts of wrist as he shakes the cocktail in his hands.

“I like a good Old Fashioned,” Soonyoung says in that lilting voice of his. The drink that spills from the shaker is a blood red, and Soonyoung garnishes it with a twist of citrus peel. “It’s just a little sweet. Or do you not like sweet drinks?”

“Sweet is…” Sweet means cloying. Sweet is a flavour that ends a dinner by rounding out the palate. In other words, final. “It’s fine,” Wonwoo answers. “I’m sure you make a good one.”

Soonyoung makes an amused laugh and reaches for the bourbon on the shelf. “If you don’t like it, please let me make you another drink,” he says. He places a stout glass on the counter in front of Wonwoo, making a show of how he tips sugar into the glass with a long, slender spoon. Then the bitters and bourbon. A large handful of ice and a splash of water. He leans an arm on the counter and sticks the spoon back in the glass.

As he stirs, a waitress tells him a table wants four Cosmopolitans and a Sidecar. The gruff man earlier is now sweetly asking for a highball because he wants to feel light and bubbly.

Wonwoo watches the dark amber colour slowly pale as the melting ice dilutes it. Then, when Soonyoung is satisfied with the final colour, he tops it off with a slice of orange.

“Enjoy,” Soonyoung tells him with a grin then proceeds to making all the other orders. He strikes conversation with the gruff man again. _I once found myself in Eungam buying a whole octopus from a woman who wrestled with the tentacles wrapped around her arm_. Not special by any means, but the man laughs when Soonyoung reenacts how the tentacles clung to the woman then again when Soonyoung explains the churning in his stomach from taking the subway back to Apgujeong with the octopus contained in a thin plastic bag, ready to spill across the train floor for the whole hour and a half it took to get home.

Meanwhile, Wonwoo takes his first sip. The sugar is meant to help find the inherent sweetness in the whiskey, and Wonwoo thinks that perhaps he’s searching his tongue for something he can’t find right away. Soonyoung comes back to him, expectant.

“Do you like it?”

“I haven’t decided.”

“Is it too strong? Maybe you should nurse it for a while.”

“You’re determined to make me like it,” Wonwoo points out, making Soonyoung laugh, and he takes note of how Soonyoung’s voice jumps when he laughs, how it hitches and gets patchy.

Soonyoung then tells him, “I would feel bad if you didn’t like it.”

“I like it,” Wonwoo says slowly, “but I can’t afford another.” The admission makes Wonwoo feel silly, but Soonyoung laughs again, and it’s such a nice laugh—it comforts instead of ridicules.

“Okay, how about you finish that one then I’ll make you another,” Soonyoung suggests. “On me. _Then_ you can get our cheapest beer.”

“Deal.” There is no TV anywhere to distract, so Wonwoo watches Soonyoung strike conversation with newcomers and wipe the counter after everyone that leaves. As the night progresses, Soonyoung’s sleeves get rolled further up his arm, Wonwoo notices as Soonyoung picks up bottle after bottle from Wonwoo’s share of the counter. By the time Wonwoo can’t find his mouth to ask for another beer, Soonyoung’s sleeves have been pushed all the way to his elbow, a light sheen on his forehead. Otherwise, Soonyoung looks as polished as he did… some hours ago, a bit like the French 75 he served Wonwoo in its tall glass, bubbles climbing up the sides. Eventually, Wonwoo blurts out, “Hey.”

Soonyoung looks up, face schooled into worry. “Are you okay?” he asks immediately.

“I need to take a piss, actually.” Wonwoo remembers his phone, which lay on the counter, screen down, and dangles it in front of Soonyoung. “Watch over my phone, will you? Or… Or you could… throw it away…” Soonyoung catches the phone with both hands and walks out of the counter so he could stand in front of Wonwoo, tucking Wonwoo’s phone into the inner pocket of his waistcoat.

“Come on, let’s go pee,” Soonyoung says. He helps Wonwoo down from the barstool and makes Wonwoo wrap an arm around his shoulders.

Vomit stinks, but Wonwoo can’t do more than lay his head on the toilet seat, breathing in the fumes. “Fuck.” The walls are nicely tiled in black, at least. A scented candle burning. A full roll of toilet paper.

Soonyoung pries himself away from the wall he was previously leaning on and kneels in front of Wonwoo, holding up his hand. “How many fingers am I holding up?”

“Six.”

“I only have one hand up.”

“You have six fingers,” Wonwoo argues. “Six _fucking_ fingers.” He grabs Soonyoung’s hand. “See? One, two, three, four—Oh.”

 

 

> _Old Fashioned_
> 
>     * 1 teaspoon superfine sugar
>     * 2 to 3 dashes bitters
>     * 2 ounces bourbon
>     * 1 slice of orange
> 

> 
> Place the sugar in an Old Fashioned glass. Douse in bitters then pour the whiskey. Stir to dissolve the sugar. Add ice cubes and stir to chill. Garnish with a slice of orange. Reminisce.

 

***

 

The minute Wonwoo stepped out of the school he took his exams in, he ran to find Jihoon and together they splurged on big bowls of noodle soup until they were warm and full, broth sloshing in their bellies. Then to the park, where they sit on the swings without moving until the day was approaching midnight and Wonwoo can barely make out Jihoon in the darkness, save for where the lone streetlight caught the edge of Jihoon's nose.

“You think you did badly?” Wonwoo finally asked. He knows Jihoon is scowling into the hood of his coat, teeth bared as if poised to attack.

“I fucked up,” Jihoon hisses. “It can’t just be me, right? The test questions came out of nowhere.”

“I don’t know what I feel about it,” Wonwoo says. “Hopeful? There’s a bit of that.”

“At least one of us is,” Jihoon says not unkindly. “You did well, I’m sure, ya big fucking nerd.”

Wonwoo snorts so loudly he feels a sharp pain shoot up his nose and he lets out a loud groan at that, making Jihoon laugh. “Fuck you, man, that hurt,” he grumbles with a pinch of his nose.

 

 

For all the times Jihoon forced Wonwoo into going to bed instead of staying up another hour to study for math or English or history, Wonwoo wished he could quite literally kick Jihoon in the ass. The sentiment bothers him throughout dinner at Jihoon’s house, where Jihoon picks through fish fins with his teeth between mouthfuls of rice and soybean paste stew while he picks at the tteokgalbi Jihoon’s mom made for him, wishing he could eat more than the tiny bites his jaw was willing to chew on.

“You did badly, huh?” Jihoon prompts after dinner. He rolls over onto his stomach and looks at Wonwoo, who was lying down on a futon on the floor, blanket drawn up and tucked under his chin. “I did, too. I’m retaking it next year.”

“I did okay,” Wonwoo argues. Okay, meaning _not spectacularly_. Okay, meaning _not enough_. “Can’t get into Seoul U, though.”

“Shit,” Jihoon breathes. “So where are you gonna go now?”

“Where I can, I guess. I’m not going through that again.” Wonwoo shifts away from Jihoon and closes his eyes, fighting the dampness of the pillow as he struggles into sleep.

 

 

“— _principal has been charged with embezzlement and fraud due to an anonymous tip-off about offshore accounts in Hong Kong under the institution’s name_ —” 

 

***

 

“Hi! Can you connect my laptop to the main network? My boss let me work from home once a week, so I need access to the files from home,” the guy explains with a wide smile. Charming, like he gets his way with anything.

“Sure,” Wonwoo says in a tone to match his. “Do you have your laptop with you right now?”

“I do.” The guy walks around into the entrance of the cubicle and hands it to Wonwoo like that. “So how long will it take?” he then asks. His bangs fall into his face as often as he speaks, getting untucked from his ear and cascading across his face. He tucks it back as soon as it falls.

Wonwoo takes the laptop and hums as he wakes his own work desktop back to life. “About six hours? If you’re leaving early, you’ll have to leave it overnight, is that okay?”

“Sure, yeah, that’s fine,” the guy says. “Thank you _so much_. I owe you one! Wonwoo, right?”

“Yeah, it’s Wonwoo,” Wonwoo replies, a smile spreading through his mouth.

“Perfect. I’m Jeonghan.”

“Jeonghan,” Wonwoo repeats, liking the way it formed on his tongue. “Nice to meet you. I’ll text you when it’s good to go?”

“Of course!” Jeonghan makes grabby hands for the Post Its on Wonwoo’s desk, scribbling on the topmost sheet with a green pen and handing it back to Wonwoo. “See you soon!” He heads back out of the IT department, leaving Wonwoo to smile at the heart next to Jeonghan’s number in relative peace.

There is a chill in Wonwoo’s fingertips when he types out a text to Jeonghan— _hey! ur laptop is all good :)_ —and the entire exchange is over too soon, with Jeonghan coming up to claim his laptop just fifteen minutes after Wonwoo texted, a little under an hour until people are allowed to go home without getting pay deductions.

“You’re a lifesaver, sweetie,” Jeonghan says in awe after a quick scroll through his laptop, perched on his arm and held up with slender fingers.

Maybe when Jeonghan arrives at work tomorrow morning, he’ll find out he’s been promoted, and he can spend more days at home. His hair falls in front of his face again, and he tucks it back before Wonwoo has the courage to reach up and place it back for him.

Next morning, Jeonghan doesn’t get promoted, but he invites Wonwoo out for dinner, and there’s longing in the ginseng chicken Wonwoo eats to battle the summer’s humidity.

 

 

***

 

This restaurant serves some of the best marinated crabs Jeonghan’s ever tasted, and Wonwoo accompanies him so he could watch him suck crab flesh from the legs while he snacks on spicy crispy chicken, mouth numb from chilli flakes and beer. Today, all Jeonghan orders is black bean noodles, the noodles sloshing in their bowl as he mixes it with the sauce.

Wonwoo gets the same thing. He kind of misses the spicy chicken.

“Wonwoo,” Jeonghan begins once they’ve finished, meal eaten in silence, where the silence talks about finality in its myriad forms. The black bean sauce sours in Wonwoo’s mouth. “I’m really sorry.”

“About?”

“I thought I could handle your…” Jeonghan clicks his tongue as he finds the words to use. “Your superpower…”

“My superpower,” Wonwoo says quietly. “You think it brings some good into this world?”

“I don’t. It makes you nothing but sad,” Jeonghan answers. “It’s a curse.”

Pinprick tears form at the corner of Wonwoo’s eyes and fall when he blinks. He wipes it away quickly, but Jeonghan sees and softens up so much, perhaps enough to want to reach for Wonwoo. (Wonwoo feels the same ache in his extremities.)

“I really want to help you,” Jeonghan tells him, “but I’m not the right person. I can’t even handle myself most days.”

“It's fine,” Wonwoo says numbly, head light and body heavy. “I understand.” He can excuse Jeonghan for the chill in his fingertips when he feels Jeonghan’s lips press against his cheek before he goes to pay the bill and leaves.

The owner comes.

“Hey,” Wonwoo asks, “mind if I stay here a while?”

“No problem. My name's Seungcheol if you need anything,” the owner tells him. “You okay?”

Wonwoo lets out a laugh, shrugs, and asks for more water.

 

 

“You might wanna head home,” Seungcheol says to Wonwoo as he’s mopping the floor, most of the chairs already stacked on their tables. Inside the kitchen, dishes are being washed. “We’re closed.”

“Yeah, I know,” Wonwoo says dryly. “It’s just—”

“Your boyfriend?”

“Ex now.”

“Shit, I’m sorry.” Seungcheol lifts his head to acknowledge the man coming out of the kitchen and says, “Seungkwan-ah, make some dumplings.”

“Now?”

“Our friend Wonwoo's sad.”

Seungkwan looks at Wonwoo and gives him a tiny smile. “What filling do you want?”

“I’m allergic to seafood,” Wonwoo answers. Seungkwan heads back into the kitchen while Seungcheol sits down in front of Wonwoo with a bottle of soju.

Seungcheol twists the bottle open and pours Wonwoo a shot, all the while saying, “You should come back tomorrow. Kwannie’s father is sending a crate of tangerines and you might want some.”

Wonwoo’s stomach twists at the easy offer, at how Seungcheol is so easily confident in tomorrows. “I’m not sure I‘ll be able to come,” he says slowly before downing the shot. His finger rubs the side of the glass, traces the chip off the rim. It could be bad luck, or maybe the bad lucks cancel each other out. Seungkwan comes back with dumplings, both steamed and fried and with their dipping sauce, and places the platter in front of Wonwoo.

Seungcheol pulls Seungkwan to sit beside him in the booth. With a wide smile, he cups Seungkwan’s cheek and kisses him there, long and deep. It makes Seungkwan laugh, but he doesn’t shove Seungcheol away, merely grumbling, “Not in front of him,” instead. He meets the hand Seungcheol ran down from cheek to shoulder and laces their fingers together. “Please eat,” he tells Wonwoo. “It’s free.”

“Try the fried one first,” Seungcheol suggests. He reaches for Seungkwan again and cradles his head on Seungkwan’s shoulder.

Wonwoo picks up a dumpling with his chopsticks and bites into it gingerly, pulling at the chewy wrapper with his teeth while steam rises from the hot filling.

“Good, right?” Seungcheol prompts. “Kwannie makes everything from scratch, even the wrappers.” Seungkwan rolls his eyes at the praise but kisses Seungcheol’s hand, the backs of his knuckles and the ring on one of his fingers, anyway.

“Come tomorrow if you have time,” Seungkwan offers this time. “I’m making a special Jeju dish only for tomorrow.”

“You’re from Jeju?” Wonwoo asks before dipping the dumpling into the sauce and shoving the entire piece into his mouth. Finality as the tendency in him to gnaw on his own joints, through the skin, muscle, ligaments, and tendon. But somewhere underneath that finality lurks a _maybe_ , hidden in the soft music that played while Seungcheol cleaned up earlier.

Seungkwan picks up his own pair of chopsticks and picks up one of the steamed dumplings. “Yes, and I learned cooking from my mum.”

“Your crabs are really good,” Wonwoo says as he reaches for another dumpling. Those are good, too—juice dripping out when he bites, elastic and chewy skin. Maybe the way to a man's heart is really through his stomach. How Seungcheol only looks at Seungkwan when he speaks, arm around Seungkwan's neck and mouth never too far from where he can steal a kiss.

“That’s her recipe, too,” Seungkwan says with a bright smile.

“The chicken you always order isn’t, though,” Seungcheol says with a slight laugh. “That’s Kwannie’s favourite midnight snack.”

“It’s because you can’t eat spicy food,” Seungkwan tells Seungcheol with a laugh.

 

 

The dish turns out to be Jeju black pig that Seungkwan serves two ways: in noodle soup, with elastic and chewy noodles in an incredibly rich broth that leaves Wonwoo’s lips sticky, and simply grilled. Wonwoo sits himself in a booth while Seungkwan hovers over the charcoal, cutting up bite-sized pieces for Wonwoo to dip into sesame oil laced with salt and black pepper.

He briefly wonders if Jeonghan stopped by before going home as well, but he’d rather savour the taste of the soup.

 

 

> _Classic Martini_
> 
>     * 2 ounces dry gin
>     * 1 ounce vermouth
>     * 1 dash orange bitters (optional)
>     * an olive (optional)
>     * a twist of lemon peel (optional)
> 

> 
> Combine the gin, vermouth, and bitters (if using) into a shaker and mix well, straining into a chilled cocktail glass. If feeling fresh, garnish with a twist of lemon peel. If tired and weary to the bone, add an olive.

 

***

 

This couch isn’t his. Wonwoo belatedly realises this after he wakes up for the fourth time, joints aching as he shifts from side to side. He sits up and tastes the cotton in his mouth, making a face at the sun in his eyes.

“Morning,” Soonyoung says from his seat, which is right across from Wonwoo, on an armchair near Wonwoo’s feet that poked out of the blanket that’s too short for him. “Do you want some coffee?”

“Is this your place?” Wonwoo asks instead. “I feel like puking.”

“The bathroom is over there,” Soonyoung says with a finger pointed to the closed door beside the open one that leads to, presumably, Soonyoung’s bedroom. He returns the very same finger to his iPad and scrolls through a bit while Wonwoo stares, his body not entirely sure of what it should be doing. Eventually, Soonyoung notices when he reaches for his coffee, takes a sip, and meets Wonwoo’s eyes. “You okay?”

“I’m—This is really embarrassing, I’m sorry,” Wonwoo says quickly. “I think I vomited on you.”

Soonyoung shrugs. “You didn’t,” he tells him, then ends up laughing, “but I like that you thought you did.”

Wonwoo ends up smiling, too, and places his feet on the floor. Soonyoung sets his iPad down and gets up, padding into the kitchen to pour more coffee into his mug. He comes back out with two mugs and gives one of them to Wonwoo. The coffee is definitely not hot anymore, but is warm enough for the first sip to not be jarring.

“So what _did_ I do?” Wonwoo ends up asking. His jacket is gone, he notices, and his shoes placed somewhere he can’t see. He thinks of Soonyoung wrestling with his drunk body, shrugging the jacket off his shoulders. How Soonyoung must have knelt to unlace Wonwoo’s shoes and slip them off his socked feet. It makes Wonwoo’s face heat up something fierce.

Soonyoung, on the other hand, doesn’t appear perturbed at all, and looks up at Wonwoo from his iPad with a wry smile. “You did nothing, don’t worry,” he says. “You’re very touchy, though.”

“I’m sorry.”

“You managed to stop yourself,” Soonyoung says. “It’s really cute.”

Wonwoo coughs, ears a bright red.

“I can take you home,” Soonyoung offers.

Wonwoo’s sure he can’t blush any further. He clears his throat. “Please let me make it up to you,” he says. “Is there anything you want for lunch?” Before Soonyoung can answer, he downs his now disgustingly cold coffee, gets up, and looks for his jacket, which Soonyoung hung on a chair by the kitchen counter. “Please. I feel bad.”

Soonyoung laughs. “Your shoes are by the door,” he tells Wonwoo. “So anything?”

“I trust that you won’t ask me to go fine dining,” Wonwoo says when he puts on his jacket. His house keys inside the pocket jingle when he does, which gives him a little comfort. Soonyoung stands up, still in his pyjamas. “Go change,” Wonwoo tells him. “Please.”

The urgency makes Soonyoung laugh again and Wonwoo’s stomach curl. “You don’t have to bring me out to lunch,” Soonyoung insists. “Just let me take you home, so I know you’ll be okay.”

_I won’t be okay, that’s the thing_. “Please,” Wonwoo begs. “It’ll make me feel better.”

“I’ll just change,” Soonyoung says finally. He gets up and heads back into his bedroom, emerging a few minutes later in jeans and a loose shirt, jacket slung over his arm. In his hand, Wonwoo’s phone that he gives back to him. The time reads some time after lunch on this lazy Sunday.

Outside is brisk. Outside is crisp. Soonyoung shrugs on his jacket, a leather studded thing, but Wonwoo still wonders about Soonyoung’s knees peeking through the holes in his jeans.

 

 

They bring Subway in paper bags to the park and sit where the water flows slowest. Large cups of Coke then two bottles of water for when their throats feel tacky. Wonwoo can feel every blade of grass beneath his legs (it’s an exaggeration, but the itch is so, _so_ palpable, so _there_ ), and soon his legs will be numb from sitting crosslegged. He gives up eventually and stands up to sit on a bench, Soonyoung following.

“This is nice,” Soonyoung says as he unwraps his own sandwich. “It almost feels like a date, you know? But I feel like I should be treating you instead.”

“Why?”

“You looked really tired,” Soonyoung explains. “When you slept, I mean.”

Wonwoo stops in the middle of opening his sandwich. His fingers have gone cold, and he hates the sensation as much as he hates the constancy of it, how so easily he chills. “Like how?” he asks, voice dropping slightly. “Like I was having a nightmare?”

“It’s more like… I don’t know, I could be wrong—I’m just basing this off how I feel when I sleep—but you looked like… you were half-awake. Like you wanted to sleep but couldn’t.”

“Am I that obvious?”

“I don’t know you that well.”

“I’m sorry you got treated to lunch by a complete stranger because he’s an idiot that let himself get drunk without a guardian,” Wonwoo says, deadpan.He takes a bite out of his sandwich and with his mouth full, adds, “What do you want to know?”

“Your name would be a good start, I think.”

Wonwoo laughs, and the sound of it is odd. “It’s Wonwoo,” he eventually says. “I grew up in Busan then moved here for university…” _I have a curse_. “I can’t eat seafood because I’m allergic. I work in the IT department of a law firm.” _My ex works there, too, and I have to see him at work tomorrow_. “I… I don’t know what to say anymore.” He shakes his head and, before taking another bite, continues, “I’m really boring, sorry.”

Soonyoung just hums and eats his sandwich, chewing with a deliberation and his shoulder thrust slightly out in a way that makes Wonwoo want to take it, want to lay his head down and take a nap, a deep breath, but he doesn’t—he just stares at Soonyoung and at the space he could easily fill up if he just—

“What are you looking at?” 

“I went through an awful breakup,” Wonwoo says quietly.

“I know” is all Soonyoung says in reply. 

“How do you know that?”

“Your phone. I didn’t open it, don’t worry, but your friend Jihoon texted. He said you shouldn’t do anything stupid since you just got broken up with.”

Wonwoo looks down at his half-eaten sandwich and chews a bit more slowly. Once he’s swallowed, he mumbles, ”Obviously I didn’t get the message,” and that makes Soonyoung laugh again. He has a nice laugh. The brightness of it quivers.

“Do you want a hug?“ Soonyoung asks. Without waiting for a reply, he wraps his sandwich back up, sets it down, and holds his arms open.

There is a lot of empty space: by the crook of Soonyoung’s neck with the tendrils of hair sticking to it from the slight sheen of sweat, in front of Soonyoung’s chest and Wonwoo could curl up into it if he wanted to, the area under Soonyoung’s arms that Wonwoo can tuck his own arms under. Wonwoo doesn’t worry about not fitting; he puts down everything in his hands and hugs him, lays his head on Soonyoung’s shoulder and feels a bit silly about smelling like he crawled out of a gutter.

But Soonyoung pats him on the back. Rubs circles, even.

 

 

“Thanks,” Wonwoo says as they approach his apartment complex, the building tinged purple. (How Soonyoung hasn’t once wrinkled his nose because of how badly Wonwoo needs a shower. Wonwoo appreciates the gesture, finds it sweet, even, but he doesn’t ask Soonyoung to come inside.) “Where ya headed now?”

“Work,” Soonyoung answers. “I have a shift at the bar tonight.”

“Oh.”

Soonyoung shrugs. “I’m sure it’ll be light,” he says. “You should text me if you feel like you… need to talk or anything.”

“Is this a come on?” Wonwoo asks.

“What?”

“Are you hitting on me?”

“I just think you need a friend,” Soonyoung says lightly. “You should stop coming to the bar before it becomes a habit, you know?”

“Fine,” Wonwoo sighs. He hands his phone to Soonyoung so he could put his number in, then puts his own in Soonyoung’s. Soonyoung has to leave to help set up, but it was nice, and he hopes Wonwoo doesn’t feel too embarrassed about what’s happened to talk to him again. “And how do you know I won’t just go to a cheaper bar?” Wonwoo calls after Soonyoung, Soonyoung’s laughter echoing back to him.

 

***

 

“Hey.” Jihoon’s voice crackles through the phone, crackling even more as he shifts in his seat. Wonwoo cradles the phone in his ear with his shoulder then reaches for his pocket to pay for his coffee. “So… I’m going back to Busan,” Jihoon says.

“What?” Wonwoo stops in the middle of stirring sugar into his coffee and readjusts his phone so he could hear better. “Why?”

“Look… I didn’t tell you this because I didn’t want you to worry, but my family’s not doing so well. My aunt and I have been sending money back to Busan for a while now,” Jihoon explains. “There’s some mess with paperwork that I need to handle.”

“How long will that take?” _When are you coming back?_ From what Wonwoo’s learned through Jeonghan, paperwork is always as long as he suspects, maybe even longer.

“A few months, I guess,” Jihoon sighs.

“But Seungkwan invited us to Jeju for Chuseok,” Wonwoo argues. He takes a sip of his coffee and heads out of the coffee shop, stopping instead by a bench and sitting down there, a slight chill left to it even in the height of spring.

“I know,” Jihoon apologises. “I’m really sorry.”

“When are you leaving?”

“Few days.”

Wonwoo sits up a little straighter. “You don’t think I won’t worry now?” he asks. “Jihoon-ah.”

Jihoon doesn’t answer, but Wonwoo knows about how his mouth looks like when it tightens into a thin line. “I know you will, but I’m saying it’s better that you don’t.”

“Why?”

“This isn’t something you can fix. Only I can fix it.” When Wonwoo goes quiet, Jihoon asks, “Wonwoo-ya, do you trust me?”

 

***

 

The walk out of Ichon station to the museum is cold, the air-conditioning making Wonwoo want to walk faster, to the height of stairs out, but the walls are decorated, and he spends a bit of time ogling the gold in them. Outside, swans. There are ducks, too, in the lake. Fresh green trees.

Soonyoung finds Wonwoo there and sits down beside him. “The national museum, really?”

“It’s free,” Wonwoo says. “Besides, learning our history is important.” Soonyoung laughs and lets Wonwoo lead him to the main building with the permanent exhibits, picking up some brochures by the information desk.

“You sounded urgent on the phone,” Soonyoung prompts in the face of a map of the Three Kingdoms. He’s moved closer to Wonwoo so he could keep his voice low. “I got a little worried. I mean, you never talked to me after that time.”

“I’m really sorry,” Wonwoo apologises. “My best friend, he… He’s moving back to Busan for a while.”

“I’m sorry,” Soonyoung tells him in return. “For how long?”

“A few months.” _I didn’t mean to make you a replacement_. “Are you even reading what it says?”

“You’re not going to test me on this, are you?” Soonyoung groans. “There’s the Baekje, the Silla, and the Goguryeo. What else do you need to know?”

 

***

 

“Of course I trust you,” Wonwoo says. He thinks Jihoon’s nodding without realising this is a voice call. “I trust you with everything. About everything.”

 

 

***

 

 

Wonwoo likes the religious images the most, he realises. He likes seeing palms, either facing the sky as if to receive blessings in the form of rain or facing front, fingers not stiff and locked at the joints but gentle, slightly persuasive. The [Iron Buddha](http://www.metmuseum.org/exhibitions/listings/2013/koreas-golden-kingdom/about-the-exhibition/buddhism) in the darkened room has no hands, and Wonwoo finds him agitated. He rubs at his own wrists as he examines the Buddha.

Soonyoung appreciates fluidity in forms, Wonwoo notes whenever Soonyoung wraps a hand around his wrist and points at something tucked away safely behind its glass case. “I like that one,” he always says when bodies imitate flowing water and gentle waves.

In plain language, Wonwoo likes Soonyoung. An expansion: Wonwoo appreciates the way he feels when he’s with Soonyoung. A further one: Wonwoo feels gentle and he much appreciates Soonyoung’s kindness even though he has no idea how to reciprocate it and the very thought gives him unease, but the feeling goes away the moment he sees Soonyoung worry his bottom lip with his teeth as he looks at the exhibit.

“Do you have plans for Chuseok?” Wonwoo asks once they’ve exited the last room of the first floor. Soonyoung shakes his head. “My friend, uh, invited me to his home in Jeju. Would you like to come?”

 

***

 

“Are you sure you don’t mind?” Wonwoo asks Seungkwan, who’s shaking his head even before Wonwoo completed his sentence. “I asked him on a whim, and he said yes.”

“We told you it’s fine when you first told us, so stop being such a worrywart,” Seungcheol scolds. He takes the jacket on his arm and puts it on Seungkwan’s shoulders, patting down the sides of Seungkwan’s arms. “Where is he? Your friend?”

“He’s on the train,” Wonwoo answers after a quick check of his phone. Seungcheol excuses himself to the bathroom, leaving Seungkwan with a quick peck to the cheek. “He’s really nice, by the way.”

Seungkwan smiles. “I know he is.” He wraps the jacket tighter around his body. “He’s the one who’s been taking care of you, yeah?” he asks with a slight laugh at Wonwoo’s expression, which had schooled itself into one of embarrassment at Seungkwan’s question. “I’m kidding, hyung, but I’m glad you brought him. Have you ever been to Jeju?”

“No.”

“Has he?”

“No.”

“See? I’ll make it a good experience for you,” Seungkwan says brightly. “Is there anything you want to see?”

“Well… The beach.” Wonwoo gets a text from Soonyoung saying he’s arrived at the airport and cranes his neck to find him, raising his arm to call Soonyoung over to where they’re standing with their bags. “Soon-ah,” he asks once Soonyoung’s gotten to them and exchanged introductions with Seungcheol and Seungkwan, “where do you want to go?”

“I want to climb a mountain,” Soonyoung says, making Wonwoo laugh. “Don’t you think it’ll be a good experience?”

“I’m sure it will, but I don’t think you can climb a mountain,” Wonwoo teases.

Seungcheol butts in, “I like mountains. I find them romantic.” He faces Seungkwan. “Right?” Seungkwan laughs and drags him to the check-in counter, the hand on Seungcheol’s waist travelling lower until it stops to give Seungcheol a light squeeze.

“I’m sorry about them,” Wonwoo says as he follows them, Soonyoung beside him. “They’re very public…”

“We can be disgusting, too,” Soonyoung jokes. He wraps an arm around Wonwoo’s shoulder and plants a sloppy kiss on his cheek.

 

 

Wonwoo has the seat nearest the window, and after stowing his luggage away, he puts on his seatbelt and keeps his eyes on the window. “This is so cool,” he says. “I’ve never been on a plane before.”

“Really?” Soonyoung has the seat beside him, then Seungcheol and Seungkwan in the aisle opposite. “I’ve never been to Jeju before, but my family went on trips to Japan when I was a kid.” He’s seen Tokyo, Osaka, Kyoto… Hokkaido. He doesn’t remember much, however, except that he has fond memories of Calpis and konbini hot pot.

The plane goes into taxi and the way it speeds up has Wonwoo clutching on the arm of his seat (and consequently, Soonyoung’s arm). He holds his breath until the plane is all the way up in the sky then lets his mouth fall open at the sight of the plane’s wing slicing through a cloud.

He knows that if he sticks his hand into a cloud, his hand would come out frozen, but he feels warm all the way down to his fingertips. He turns his head back and smiles at Soonyoung, who greeted him with a smile of his own.

 

***

 

Jeonghan finds Wonwoo in his cubicle, cup of coffee in hand. “Hey, are you okay?” he asks. He leans on Wonwoo’s desk and tries to reach for Wonwoo’s hand. The lights are flickering and the emergency light a weak source but constant. “The main system is broken, don’t you know?”

Wonwoo shakes his head. Jeonghan sighs and runs his hands through his hair, this time letting it fall in front of his face without pushing it back.

“How long do you plan on keeping it down?” Jeonghan asks.

“I don’t know,” Wonwoo mumbles. “I can’t—I can’t control any of this…”

“ _Please_ ,” Jeonghan begs. “We’ll be set back for days.”

Wonwoo boots his desktop back on and says, “I’ll try to fix what I can.” He looks up when Jeonghan pulls him close, drags him by the chair until Jeonghan’s knee is between Wonwoo’s legs, but he can’t meet Jeonghan’s eyes. “I’m so sorry.”

“Wonwoo,” Jeonghan says gently, cupping Wonwoo’s face and stroking his hair, “The world goes on… whether or not life is good for you.”

 

***

 

“You busy?” Wonwoo approaches Soonyoung with a bottle of soju and two glasses.

“You think I’d be busy here?” Soonyoung’s seated on the ledge instead of the proper wicker chairs assembled on the back porch and he scoots a little further to the side so Wonwoo could place what he’s brought there and lean on his elbows a bit. “How are you?” Soonyoung asks. “Seungkwan and Seungcheol in bed already?”

Wonwoo snorts and opens the soju, pouring a bit into both glasses. “Can I tell you something?”

“Of course. May I?” Soonyoung takes his shot and they make a toast, Wonwoo wincing once it goes down his throat.

“I have this… thing,” Wonwoo begins. “It’s not easy to explain, though. When I was thirteen, I broke my arm falling off a tree. The next day, the whole park got closed down. I was thirteen, what did I know? I thought it was a coincidence and never thought about it again.

“I was sixteen when my parents got divorced. Dad came home one night with all the papers, got my mom to sign. I never saw him again. My mom was so calm… She helped him pack, I remember. She folded all his shirts, saw him out.

“The next day, she picked me up from school, and when we got home, the fire department had been there. I think they tried calling my mom, but she couldn’t be reached. Our door was gone… The walls were black, and when we got close enough, we soon realised there was nothing left. She was so calm the day before, but that day, I just watched her try to dig through the ashes and come up with nothing. She wouldn’t stop crying.

“I didn’t—couldn’t—think it was my fault. I lost so many things, too, so I spent so much time feeling sorry for myself, for my mom. I had to stay at Jihoon’s for a while, until we got our shit together.” Wonwoo pauses to take another shot and notices that Soonyoung isn’t looking at him but rather at something far away on the shore. “It really only stopped being a coincidence after this bakery I love closed down.”

Soonyoung asks, “What happened?”

“This girl rejected me,” Wonwoo says hollowly, with a slight laugh that reverberates inside him. “I had a crush on her for a good two years, then I finally got the courage to tell her, but all she could tell me was ‘I’m sorry’. I come back the next day and find the windows all plastered.” Apparently the family that owned the bakery ran into financial troubles and had to turn it over to the bank. Until now, Wonwoo thinks about their red bean buns. How the filling was nicely dense and creamy within the fluffy bread. “My school closed down, too, after I got a low score in my CSAT.

“I used to think that maybe if I thought positively, good things would happen, too. I used to wish for my mom to run into some money and go on that trip to Europe like she always wanted. She never did, so I stopped hoping. I’m only bad luck, I think.”

Wonwoo hears a sniffle, and he looks up to Soonyoung wiping his face, empty shot glass held forlornly between his fingers. Soonyoung reaches for the soju and pours himself some more, knocking it back without so much as a twitch of his mouth from the burn.

“You’re not,” Soonyoung says quietly. Another tear escapes him, and he lets it roll down his cheek instead of wiping it away. “Bad luck, I mean. You aren’t.”

Tears well up in the corner of Wonwoo’s eyes as well, falling when he blinks. The soju sloshes out of the bottle when he tries to pour himself a shot with shaking hands.

“Wonwoo-ya, please don’t believe that,” Soonyoung tells him.

“I don’t know what else to believe in,” Wonwoo admits.

“You can control how you feel. It’s difficult, I know, but you can take things in stride. That might change things.” Soonyoung turns around and brings himself back down, hugging Wonwoo without another word. Wonwoo starts to sob, and the soft sounds of Soonyoung trying to soothe him drown out the ocean’s waves.

 

 

> _Classic Negroni_
> 
>     * 1 ounce dry gin
>     * 1 ounce Campari
>     * 1 ounce sweet vermouth
>     * 1 thin piece of orange peel
> 

> 
> For a less bitter experience, serve on the rocks. Combine the liquor in a glass with ice and stir then twist the orange peel over top to release its aroma and use as garnish. Otherwise, leave the ice and brace yourself.

 

***

 

Jeju Island is a dream, and Soonyoung waxes poetic over a breakfast of rice and fish that Seungcheol fished that morning at the crack of dawn. “Did you have fun last night?” he asks Seungkwan lightly, then laughs when Seungkwan blushes a fierce red. Wonwoo snickers into his bowl of porridge, fishing out pieces of tender chicken to put in his mouth.

“I was worried. There was a lot of noise,” Soonyoung adds.

“Fuck off, hyung,” Seungkwan grouses. “Seungcheol hyung said the weather’s good for hiking today. Do you still want to go?”

“Yeah,” Wonwoo says. “You, Soon-ah?”

Soonyoung removes his chopsticks from his mouth and says, “Yeah, of course.”

“ _—car after colliding with a runaway truck. The driver has been transferred to the hospital, but no word yet if he is pressing charges_ ,” the TV says. Wonwoo looks up and sees a familiar stretch of road, a familiar licence plate.

“That’s Jihoon’s car,” Wonwoo says quietly. Soonyoung looks at him while he drops his spoon back into his porridge, stomach suddenly violently chill.

On the TV, cracks on the surface of that trafficked Busan road. They don’t quite become gaping yet, but Soonyoung right away shuts off the TV.

“Wonwoo,” Soonyoung calls, and he sounds so far away, like Wonwoo’s ears are full of water. 

“Is he okay?” Wonwoo hears Seungkwan ask. Seungcheol’s come back from outside, too, with his back full of sweat.

“What’s happened?” Seungcheol asks.

Wonwoo stands up, dishes clattering on the table. “I have to go,” he says. “I have to see him.” Before he could let Seungcheol stop him with his width and breadth, he slips out of the kitchen then up to the room he shared with Soonyoung, gathering his things into balls that he throws into his luggage without a second thought.

Soonyoung shows up a few minutes after, packing his things, too. “I’ll go with you,” he says, and doesn’t give Wonwoo room to object.

Before they leave, Seungkwan gives them tangerines, mostly for Jihoon for luck. “They said the cracks stopped showing up in Busan,” he says. “Strange, right?” His gaze is directed at Wonwoo, and Wonwoo swallows whatever decided to catch in his throat.

“I—” _I owe you an explanation_. “I’m so sorry,” Wonwoo apologises.

“Hyung, you keep saying sorry. You should just change your name to Sorry.”

“Sorry,” Wonwoo says again. “I’ll update you.”

“Of course you should,” Seungkwan tells him. “The bus is coming soon, so you should go.”

 

 

The plane goes into taxi and takes off. Wonwoo feels like he’s left his stomach on the ground, but doesn’t bother looking out the window to check. “Do you think he’ll be okay?” he asks the ceiling.

“He will be,” Soonyoung answers. “They’ve already brought him to the hospital, yeah?”

“He’d contact me,” Wonwoo says numbly.

“Do you think he’s in any position to do anything right now?” Soonyoung asks him. “There is time. He needs time. Wounds don’t heal overnight.”

“I know that,” Wonwoo snaps. “I don’t need you to tell me he’s okay; I need _him_.”

“You don’t need to destroy Busan either,” Soonyoung counters. “His well-being is out of your control, Wonwoo, and you need to put your trust in Jihoon, the doctors.”

Wonwoo keeps quiet, but a sudden jolt has Wonwoo reaching for Soonyoung’s hand. Soonyoung lets him squeeze it until his fingertips run white.

 

***

 

“So how was Jeju?” Jihoon asks. (The driver of the truck making deliveries early morning had his foot slip and veered off course. For Jihoon, no stitches, but severe bruising on his side. Wonwoo let out a breath he knows he’s been holding since he entered Jihoon’s room, and he finally lets go of Jihoon’s fingers.)

“It was fun,” Wonwoo says. “Seungkwan’s idea of a vacation is sleeping till noon, eating, going to the beach for an hour, then eating again.”

“Shit, I should’ve gone,” Jihoon sighs. “He keeps telling me about Jeju black pig. He’s so fucking proud.”

“Soonyoung wants to retire there,” Wonwoo offers. Jihoon smiles.

“You joining him?” Then: “Just kidding” when Wonwoo gives him a look. A nurse comes in with Jihoon’s lunch and gives it to him with a smile. “Have you eaten?”

“Not since yesterday,” Wonwoo admits.

Jihoon scoffs and tosses his carton of milk at him. “Go eat, dumbass,” he says. Wonwoo rolls his eyes but leaves the room to find Soonyoung, who hasn’t gone far and has instead settled in one of the chairs with his iPad and a cup of vending machine coffee, Wonwoo’s jacket strewn across his lap.

“Hey,” Wonwoo says. Soonyoung sets down his iPad and coffee and smiles up at him.

“Hey. How’s he?”

The floor is cold when Wonwoo lowers himself on it, knees uncomfortable. He thinks his tendons will crunch against the tiles, but he wraps his arms around Soonyoung, first on his waist then lets his hands travel up to Soonyoung's back. Fingers clutch against the material of Soonyoung’s cardigan. “You're right,” Wonwoo says against Soonyoung's chest, “he’s gonna be okay.”

 

 

> _French 75_
> 
>     * 2 ounces gin
>     * 1 ounce freshly squeezed lemon juice
>     * 2 teaspoons sugar
>     * Champagne
>     * 1 long thin lemon spiral
> 

> 
> Fill a cocktail shaker with ice, then shake the gin, lemon juice, and sugar in it. Strain into a champagne flute then top with Champagne and stir gently to combine. Celebrate.

**Author's Note:**

> thank you to the admins of soonwoonet on twitter for making this exchange and for all the amazing, wonderful content you've inspired! lots of good wishes for you guys for the rest of the year, fighting ♡


End file.
